Boredom strikes/The sleaze ball/Klondike Highway

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Thanks to everyone who has wished me happy birthday for the 14th August, I had an excellent time in Prince Rupert - thanks to Emily, Christine, Tom & Dianne and Mike & Becky, Bob, Marcia & Sophia for the cards, pressies, cake and the resulting hangover etc. More to follow on this as the diary entries become more present day……however, let me take you back a few weeks to the Yukon.


I literally limped home with Diana (my bike). I had cycled over 180km from Dease River Crossing to the junction of the Alaska Highway, taking advantage of a strong tailwind.

Although I had the wind in my favour, the road was really hard cycling (no change there then). There were lot’s of short sharp hills, continually winding and turning. They reminded me of the hills in the Lake District (England). The problem with these type of hills is that you can’t get into any real cycling rhythm and you never get a decent downhill to enable you to recover fully from the steep ascents.

About 5 miles from the junction the road surface was bloody awful, with pot holes and cracks all over the road. It was therefore inevitable that Diana would sustain her first injuries of the trip. I was tired and not really paying attention when I hit a large pot hole that made me suddenly jump. I heard a clicking noise and looked back at the rear wheel, where she had 2 broken spokes. To add to the problems she had also sustained a puncture to the front wheel.

I really was exhausted and decided that I couldn’t start changing spokes at this late stage in the day, so I agreed with Diana to push onto the junction if we could. Fortunately, the puncture was a very slow one and was simply caused by the inner tube pinching against the wheel rim where I had hit the hole. The spokes were more of a concern due to Diana’s weight at the back, but even though the wheel was buckled, it seemed to hold okay.

Steve had warned me back at Dease River Crossing not to stay in a place called Nugget City. He said that it was an awful place that seemed very unfriendly and geared up only to rip you off. Unfortunately, as I made the junction this is the first place that you come to on the Alaska Highway going some 90 km West, so I really had no choice but to run the gauntlet with this place. It was too late in the evening and ‘needs must as the devil drives’ as they say.

Having spoken to an unfriendly owner, who seemed hell bent on selling me a 4 star cabin for about $150, I opted for a $65 sleeping room. I was promptly led around the back of the office to what can only be described as a row of building site porta-cabins.

I have seldom stayed in a more miserable place. As I unpacked Diana, the mosquito’s in the room began to attack. I looked around at the heavily dented steel locker, hoodwinked from some building site and I could see that somebody else had also been attacked. There were red squashed blood stains everywhere. In fact they were all over the walls. It was (Mosquito) Red Dawn.

I sat on the bed and felt the springs shoot up my backside like an electric shock. There was no way I was going to sleep in the sheets, I wasn’t even going to attempt to peel them off the bed. I got my sleeping bag out and laid it out on the duvet and even it complained about the sheets.

More mosquito’s awaited me in the showers, which you had to pay another $3 to use. The showers were quite simply horrific. I think a coach load of Neanderthal cavemen had just used the cubicle I opted for, there was that much body hair. Squashed mosquito’s and highly dubious stains were everywhere. I had a 30 second wash and headed out into the bare, light bulb lit washroom. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and washed my face in the basin that was hanging off the wall. What had I done to deserve this? I pumped myself up - come on, you have just cycled 180km, you can get through this.

I returned to my miserable room and decided to fix Diana immediately. For some reason I didn’t want to hang around in the morning. The broken spokes were both ‘drive side‘, which for those of you that are not cyclists, is a real pain because you have to take the cassette off the wheel, which basically means dismantling the wheel. Diana was pleased once I had finished and had returned her to her pre-buckled, fine figure.

I cannot believe how anyone could let people wash and sleep in such appalling conditions. Even more unbelievable was the fact that I was asked in the morning whether I would like to sign the guest book. I nearly bit her hand off as I snatched the pen from her hand. All I wrote was the following.
“When scummy, money grabbing people open up a lodge, Nugget City is what you get. Thanks“.

I left chuckling to myself at the thought of her having to rip the page out of her guest book and headed off along the Alaska Highway into a severe headwind.

The road for the next 200 miles or so was very boring. It consisted of long 500 metre rolling hills, made difficult by the persisting strong headwind (which is like cycling in treacle). All you could see were the trees at the edge of the forest, which had been cut back some 10 metres or so. This is the first time on my adventure where I had been bored. I was fed up with listening to my headphones and I needed some other outlet.

A Recreational Vehicle (RV) was heading towards me and as it got to a distance where I could see the driver, I waved. To my surprise the driver and the passenger feverishly waved back. Bloody marvellous! And thus, a new way to entertain myself was born.

Every RV that now passed got a wave. Many waved back energetically. A few looked like their eyes had come out on storks in shock and horror at the sheer audacity of it all - they made me laugh the most. I started experimenting with my waves. Some people got a salute, or a peace sign, while others got a wave like the Queen, or a double arm no handed wave. I bowed and curtseyed and one person even got a leg on the handlebar (that was met with much surprise, because I nearly ended up in the ditch).

I shouted “your the man” as I pointed at one RV, only to be greeted with a wave. Even those that I shouted “your not the man” at seemed to want to wave passionately back. The highlight of the day were two Harley Davidson motor bike doods passing me whilst doing no handed aeroplanes.

Although the road is boring along this stretch, it does have one interesting point in that you cross the International Divide. There isn't anything other than a sign to tell you this fact, but the elevation at this location seperate the massive Yukon and Mackenzie River watersheds. Water flowing west from here goes to the Swift River, then the Yukon River and then eventually flows to the Bering Sea. The water that flows east goes to the Ranceria River, then the Liard River and then the Mackenzie River, ending up in the Beaufort Sea of the Arctic Ocean.



The Sleaze ball

Now I know that I have met some amazing, friendly people on this adventure so far, so it stands to reason that I was due to meet a sleaze ball at some point. That point was a place called Teslin.

I had arrived in Teslin after a fairly boring, but hard days cycling against the still continuing headwind. As I came into the town I saw a sign advertising high seed internet access. Great, at last I can send out some emails and a few diary entries that had been stacking up.

So, I turn up at this guys house, having followed the signs along Teslin lake. He seemed very friendly and invited me in and put me on a computer. I immediately thought that something was not quite right when I moved the mouse and the screen saver was a picture of a young boy, no more than 10 years old. He was washing a car, wearing only a pair of shorts. The picture itself was not pornographic at all, but it just seemed a very peculiar thing to have as a screen saver, even if it was a relative or something like that.

Anyway, as I was waiting for my hotmail account to open up, a picture of a naked man popped up on the screen. Oh no - I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. At that point, the guy returned and apologized for the picture, saying that one of his customers must have set the pop ups to appear. He also placed a cup of coffee for me on the table by the computer. I hadn’t actually asked for a cup of coffee, but perhaps he was just being friendly.

I became highly suspicious of his strange behaviour. He was in his 50’s and had a slight German accent and I didn’t trust him at all. I decided that I didn’t want his bloody coffee either.

My suspicions were proved sound, when a young lad, probably no more than 12 or 13 turned up, wanting to borrow money from him. They both went around the back of the house and I could hear them whispering. Every now and then the guy would raise his voice demanding “What am I going to get for my money? What am I going to get for my money? “

The young lad left after about 10 minutes or so and the sleazy guy came and sat next to me wearing a pair of high cut shorts that looked like something Borat would wear . He commented that I hadn’t drunk my coffee and insisted that he show me some pictures of a recent picnic in Teslin.

He paged through 4 or 5 pictures of men and boys in differing states of nudity, saying things like “now where are those pictures” and “no, that’s not it” when an even younger lad knocked at his door. Exactly the same thing happened with him - he wanted to borrow some money and they disappeared around the back of the house for 10 minutes or so.

Upon returning he mentioned my coffee again. That was now the 3rd time he had mentioned the coffee. This sent alarm bells ringing and I made up some excuse about leaving something back at my room and headed out the door quicker than a greyhound with a bum full of dynamite.

Now I don’t know what that guy was up to and to be honest I don’t want to. When you are traveling on your own you have to rely on your 6th sense, as it is often the only thing you have to determine if you are safe or not. Unfortunately, not everyone in this world is a good person.

Okay, the sleaze ball was over with and I decided to cycle down to Skagway in Alaska, before heading towards Whitehorse. Skagway is about 75 miles down at the foot of the Klondike Highway.

I camped at a place called Carcross, which is where my journey down to Skagway started. I didn’t like Carcross at all and my 6th sense was twitching again. There seemed to be lots of kids on dirt bikes, which in itself is not a problem, but for some reason they kept coming through the campsite and I took this as them checking the tents and RV’s out. It was also what appeared to be the mosquito capital of the North!

I am not too sure why, but a lot of the campsites seem to put the tents in the worst places possible. I suppose they make the most money from the RV’s, who they place in wonderful, open sites, with a picnic table and a fire pit. The poor tent population are almost regarded as vermin, who nobody really want to acknowledge their existence.

“Oh yes, we have tent spaces. Just make your way through the beautifully open, fully serviced RV park and you will come to a trail at the back that leads into the woods. Follow the sign that says “Road to Hell” until the mosquito’s eventually block out the sun and you can pitch your tent anywhere you like. Be careful though, because it is a swamp”.

In the morning it was raining. I lay listening to each raindrop thud on the roof of ‘Dean‘ (my tent), who for once was doing as he was told and not causing any upset or annoyance. After half an hour of deliberating I decided that it wasn’t going to stop raining and I began to pack up.

Packing up in the rain is my 12th worst hate in the world. I have decided that I am going to write a book called ‘Zen and the art of doing everything laying down’. Apart from the two most common ’laying down’ activities, I am capable of getting dressed, cooking, eating, going to the toilet (don’t ask) and packing up all whilst being horizontal.

Whilst stuffing Dean into his dry bag (an activity that I enjoy immensely as I poke and jab at him whilst remembering all the times he has pissed me off ), I met a wonderful couple from Zurich who were also cycling down to Skagway that day. Flo and Sandra had been touring around Canada and were heading down to Vancouver Island via the Skagway ferry. We immediately got on and agreed to cycle down together.

I can’t tell you what a joy it was to have some company for a change, I felt like I had been in solitary confinement for the past few weeks. On my trip I have met probably 20 or so cyclists, but they have always been going the opposite direction to me. We didn’t really stop talking all the way down to Skagway. We did however, stop to admire the views. And what views they were. This was real picture postcard stuff, with one spectacular view following another. For once the ride was also blessed with blue sky and sunshine.

The area is famous for the Chilkoot Trail, which is synonymous with the Klondike Gold Rush of the 1890’s.
Two big strikes in 1896 set a stampede off. In excess of 50,000 prospectors heading up from the US, all seeking their fortune. Each prospector had to by law, carry one ton of equipment and supplies to their own dig. This weight being the amount officially agreed by the government to provide a full season of provisions and supplies to see someone through the harsh winter. The weight limit was apparently rigorously enforced, with weighing stations recording each trip made until the one ton limit was reached.

If you could see the mountains and terrain that these prospectors had to carry this gear over, it makes my bike trip seem like a walk in the park. 40 degree slopes, with frequent -50 temperatures and below, these people were super tough and determined to find gold.

There is part of the Chilkoot Trail that we cycled through called the ‘White Pass’ and this was also know as the ‘Horse’s Graveyard‘, because literally 1000’s of horses died whilst trying to carry heavy equipment over it. In the museum in Skagway there was a picture of this area at the time and there were horse bones as far as the eye could see. It was actually quite upsetting, but it captured just how difficult carrying mining equipment over this terrain was.

Having thoroughly enjoyed our journey down to Skagway, Flo, Sandra and I headed for the hostel, where a strange welcome awaited………

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***THERE MAY BE MORE THAN ONE PAGE OF PHOTOGRAPHS, TO SEE THESE CLICK ON THE RELEVANT PAGE NUMBER AT THE FOOT OF THIS DIARY ENTRY***
*** MY PERSONAL EMAIL ADDRESS IS colin.d.Snowdon@hotmail.com PLEASE DROP ME A LINE FROM TIME TO TIME***
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